


Shattered

by Duskscribe



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskscribe/pseuds/Duskscribe
Summary: Hannibal and Will finally meld.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	Shattered

Blue eyes seemed electric in the shadows. Hannibal could see them so clearly despite the darkness, every peak and valley in the irises enchanting him closer, closer, limited only by the mundane restrictions of human anatomy. 

Will was tight around him, but no less alive for it. Whiskey perfumed the air between them, Hannibal able to taste it on Will’s exhales, drinking it down with each frantic groan. Will wasn’t quiet. He wasn’t still, either, hands reaching, grasping, pulling, seemingly with no real intent than to touch him. 

Hannibal understood. He understood Will better than anyone else, better than himself, as if he’d actually managed to saw through his skull and lift the top of his head to see the secrets scattered like marbles within. And Will - Will saw him, too, didn’t look away as Hannibal rocked forward again, and again, and again, a deep, inexorable rhythm. Hannibal wanted this, had wanted this consumption since he’d felt the first earnest compulsion of lust he’d had since his youth, but he could be patient. Far more enjoyable by far, to savor him. 

His eyes were greedy as they raked over Will. The smooth planes of his chest, the blood blooming beneath sweat slicked skin, a loss of control in all senses. He admired even as his vision grew cloudy with tears, small secrets shared between them. 

Will’s breathless command of his name felt like another secret, Hannibal’s attention arrested on his mouth once more. He imagined his lips as he saw them, earlier that night - _”How many whiskeys will it take to get my ankles in the air, you think?”_ \- pink, now bitten, bloodied with a last lingering smear.

“Hannibal,” Will breathed again. He pushed back against Hannibal’s grip, and Hannibal let him, dropping Will’s legs so the other could surge up, seated perfectly in his lap. They couldn’t move at the same pace, but Hannibal was so deeply within him he imagined them melded, formed of the same clay. Will pressed impossibly closer, arms encircling him, clever hands finding his- 

His. 

Hannibal can’t reach it. His eyes remain closed as his fingers fan out, only barely able to make contact with the ring of rubbery skin on his back. His imagination isn’t as good as Will’s - the scenario splinters, then shatters like a teacup at this singular limitation, Hannibal fruitlessly digging nails into the edges of his scar tissue. 

Somewhere, a door opens. The cart bearing breakfast will be on its way soon, bland and tasteless. The sheets are scratchy beneath Hannibal’s skin. The cot is hard. Somewhere out there, Will slumbers in his bed, in a house with a child and a wife, the perfectly built family of his dreams. 

Hannibal’s hands flex. 

He can be patient.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Fuller’s dang comment about Will’s ankles in the air. Also inspired by @shatouto’s lovely art here: https://twitter.com/shatouto/status/1256325846232494080?s=21


End file.
